The Heptameron, by Marguerite de Navarre

The Saddler’s Wife Cured by the sight of her Husband Caressing the Serving-maid

Tale lxxi.

A saddler’s wife, who was grievously sick, was made whole and recovered the power of speech, which
for the space of two days she had lost, on seeing her husband holding his serving-maid too familiarly on the bed whilst
she herself was drawing to her end.

In the town of Amboise there lived one Brimbaudier, 1
saddler to the Queen of Navarre, and a man whose colour of feature showed him to be by nature rather a servant of
Bacchus than a priest of Diana. He had married a virtuous woman who controlled his household very discreetly, and with
whom he was well content.

One day it was told him that his good wife was sick and in great danger, at which tidings he was in the greatest
trouble imaginable. He went with all speed to her aid, and found her so low, poor woman, that she had more need of a
confessor than a doctor. Thereupon he made the most pitiful lamentation that could be, but to represent it well ’twere
needful to speak thickly as he did, 2 and better still to paint one’s
face like his.

When he had done all that he could for her, she asked for the cross, and it was brought. On seeing this, the good
man flung himself upon a bed in despair, crying and saying in his thick speech —

After uttering many such complaints, he perceived that there was no one in the room but a young servant-maid,
passably fair and buxom, and he called to her in a whisper.

“Sweetheart,” he said, “I am dying. I am more than dead to see your mistress dying in this manner. I know not what
to do or say, except that I commend myself to you, and beg you to care for my house and my children. Take therefore the
keys from my side, and order the household, for I myself can attend to nothing more.”

The poor girl had pity on him and comforted him, begging him not to despair, so that, if she must lose her mistress,
she might not also lose her good master.

“Sweetheart,” he replied, “’tis all of no avail, for I am indeed dying. See yourself how cold my face is; bring your
cheeks close to mine and warm them.”

With this he laid his hand upon her breast. She tried to make some difficulty, but he begged her to have no fear,
since they must indeed see each other more closely. And speaking in this wise, he took her in his arms and threw her
upon the bed.

Then his wife, whose only company was the cross and the holy water, and who had not spoken for two days, began to
cry out as loudly as her feeble voice enabled her —

“Ah! ah! ah! I am not dead yet!” And threatening them with her hand, she repeated — “Villain! monster! I am not dead
yet!”

On hearing her voice, the husband and maid rose up, but she was in such a rage against them that her anger consumed
the catarrhal humour that had prevented her from speaking, and she poured upon them all the abuse that she could think
of. And from that hour she began to mend, though not without often reproaching her husband for the little love he bore
her. 3

“By this you see, ladies, the hypocrisy of men, and how a little consolation will make them forget their sorrow for
their wives.”

“How do you know,” said Hircan, “that he had not heard that such was the best remedy his wife could have? Since his
kindly treatment availed not to cure her, he wished to try whether the opposite would prove any better, and the trial
was a very fortunate one. But I marvel that you who are a woman should have shown how the constitution of your sex is
brought to amendment rather by foul means than by fair.”

“Without doubt,” said Longarine, “behaviour of that kind would make me rise not merely from my bed, but from a grave
such as that yonder.”

“And what wrong did he do her,” asked Saffre-dent, “by comforting himself when he thought that she was dead? It is
known that the marriage-tie lasts only through life, and that when this is ended it is loosed.”

“Ay,” said Oisille, “loosed from oath and bond, but a good heart is never loosed from love. The husband you have
told us of was indeed quick to forget his grief, since he could not wait until his wife had breathed her last.”

“What I think strangest of all,” said Nomerfide, “is that, when death and the cross were before his eyes, he should
not have lost all desire to offend against God.”

“A brave argument!” said Simontault. “You would therefore not be surprised to see a man act wantonly provided he
were a good distance from the church and cemetery?”

“You may laugh at me as much as you please,” said Nomerfide; “nevertheless the contemplation of death must greatly
chill a heart, however young it may be.”

“I should indeed be of the same opinion as yourself,” said Dagoucin, “if I had not heard a Princess say the
opposite.”

“In other words.” said Parlamente, “she told some story about it. If it be so, I will give you my place that you may
relate it to us.”

Then Dagoucin began as follows:—

1 Boaistuau gives the name as Bruribandier, and Gruget transforms it
into Borribaudier. M, Pifteau, after examining the MSS., is doubtful whether Brimbaudier is the correct reading.
Bromardier, which in old French meant a tippler (Ducange, Briemardum), would have been an appropriate name for
the individual referred to. — Ed.

3 This story was imitated by Noël du Fail de La Hérissaye in his
Contes d’Eutrapel (ch. v. De la Goutte), where the hero of the incident is called Glaume Esnaut de
Tremeril. “It is said,” writes Du Fail, “that the wife of that rascal Glaume of Tremeril when at the point of death, on
seeing Glaume too familiar with her serving-woman, recovered her senses, saying, ‘Ah! wicked man, I am not yet so low
as you thought. By God’s grace, mistress baggage, you shall go forth at once.’” Curiously enough, the 1585 edition of
the Contes d’Eutrapel was printed at Rennes for Noël Glame, virtually the same name as Glaume. — M.